


Astray, or, Little Redhead and the Big Bad Lion

by deviatehardorgohome



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bestiality, F/M, You probably shouldn’t read this, at least sansa’s consenting here, but you certainly shouldn’t kink shame, don't kink shame me, nobody should get offended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 15:45:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6430576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deviatehardorgohome/pseuds/deviatehardorgohome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heed the tag warnings and read at your own risk!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Astray, or, Little Redhead and the Big Bad Lion

It was just past lunch when Sansa decided she couldn’t put off visiting her grandfather any longer. He had been so ill lately he couldn’t make himself food, and someone had been bringing him some every day. She had put it off and put it off all morning, but finally accepted she would have to make the trip alone.

One of her brothers _should_ have escorted her, but her older brothers were away, and her younger brothers had fled with her sister, eager to play instead of going to visit that “boring old trout”. It was a cruel thing to say, even if grandfather _did_ look a bit of a trout, with those fleshy lips and gasping.

And of course they never wanted Sansa to come play with them. No, it made Rickon sad, Arya would tell her, to see Sansa sit there with sad eyes and watch them all wrestle with their wolf cubs. And that just made her angry, though she knew she shouldn’t be angry. She was too old to play with them anyway.

It was so painful, to remember Lady, her beautiful wolf, who was not so adventurous, but very kind and gentle. So gentle, that must have been why it was easy for some awful creature to come and take her. Sansa refused to believe she had run away. And some had claimed there were _lion_ prints in the woods, and although there weren’t any lions about these parts, Sansa preferred to believe that, then to think Lady had just grown tired of her, and wandered away.

And really Septa the nanny goat should have accompanied Sansa as well, but she had decided it was _more important_ to run off after the others, scolding them and trying to get them to stop for lessons. Well, Sansa didn’t need lessons anymore, either. She was excellent at cooking and sewing, so much her mother always trusted her to do complex tasks. She knew her numbers, could play the flute, sing, dance, was able to read and even write a little. Whereas the wolf cubs, being born wild, couldn’t even talk properly. Rickon’s pup, Shaggydog, wouldn’t talk at all, and so Rickon barely did either. Sansa knew he needed Septa’s extra assistance, but she couldn’t help but feel a pinch of loneliness that _everyone_ had left her to deliver grandfather’s parcel alone.

She was _so_ good, she _always_ did the right thing, but inevitably it left her being ignored. When she was younger and the boys and Arya did not need lessons, Septa had followed Sansa around, praising everything she did. The bell on Septa’s collar and her nasally voice were a permanent fixture in the happy memories of Sansa’s childhood. But now whenever she heard the clinking and clunking of the bell it was always accompanied by lectures and pleading. She had no time to tell Sansa if she was doing well.

She resolved to put these bad thoughts from her mind, and perhaps look for wildflowers, or sing a song. Or sing a song _to_ the flowers she passed. That was a good idea. Arya did not like her to ‘sing pointlessly’ as she called it, so this would be her chance. She had hummed her way through composing a little tune, and was just about to starting thinking of some words to go with it when something jumped out from behind an oak tree in front of her.

Sansa gave a little shriek of alarm, then felt herself blush from embarrassment as she realized who it was. It was the bad black dog that lived near the mill, the one everyone simply called “the hound”. If he had another name she did not know it, for people said his family were terrible folk, who shouldn’t be spoken of. If there was a brawl in the village, he was almost always in it, and looked like it; half his face and muzzle were furless. Burnt, twisted flesh were all that remained, even an ear was gone, and his ravaged lips curled back in a permanent snarl, showing teeth, gums, and even some of his jaw.

Sansa was careful never to stare, nor be rude about it. She wished her siblings were so considerate. For at the summer fair two years past, he had come upon her and Lady while he was drunk, and told her it was his own brother who did for his face when he was but a pup, pushing him down into a firepit for chewing on his brother’s toy. Lady had gone home that night whimpering and Sansa had promised to protect her always… it made her heart hurt even now to think of how she had failed.

As he paced around her, his black fur rippled strangely as she had rarely seen on other dogs; under his shaggy hide she had thought he was bulky, but up close his legs and haunches looked lean and firm… but large, with muscles upon muscles. It made her quiver a little, remembering stories of what happened to anyone who got in a fight with him.

“Where’s your family, little bird?” He asked impolitely.

“I’m not a bird,” Sansa scolded him. He suddenly began barking, or so she thought until she realized it was a laugh, of sorts.

“You were singing like a bird,” he rasped, and sniffed at her basket. She moved it behind her back to discourage him. It was only porridge oats, cheese and pickles, and some bread. No meat at all. Grandfather couldn’t chew meat easily. The dog huffed again, possibly another laugh, but then unexpectedly snarled.

“Where’s your daft brothers and their even dafter pups?” He snapped, and Sansa took a step back.

“They’re about,” she said, shy and unsure she should tell him she was alone. “They like to run around… they’re probably chasing each other off the trail…,” she looked to the thicket that was nearest the path searchingly, but the black hound only laughed at her again.

“You’re a terrible liar, and a silly little fool,” he said simply. Sansa gasped at his audacity, but he ignored her to continue. “You shouldn’t be walking around the forest alone any day, but especially not today,” upon saying this he put his head up to sniff the wind, and growled. “There’s something bad lurking about today.” His eyes glistened and she wondered if he was talking about himself. “Go home, little singing bird.”

Sansa put her nose in the air and gave him a sharp look, but not too sharp, in case he became angry and snarly.

“My grandfather is ill and _must_ eat. I have walked these woods a hundred times and I am _not_ a little girl that needs to be afraid!” She declared, and walked past him without another word. He _was_ a bad dog, and so ugly, even if that were not his fault.

She felt her neck prickle under his continued stare, and remembered how sometimes awful Arya would whisper to her at night that maybe he had lured Lady away and killed her, but Sansa didn’t believe that was true. He _was_ always barking and even biting at people who tried to catch him, but whenever anyone in town gave her trouble, he would often turn up and hurry them away with his menacing looks, and Lady had never seemed ill at ease with him. And how could he have done such a thing, and then sat on the mill wall every day, watching Sansa and her family come and go, without shame? She didn’t think that could be so.

She continued to feel self-consciously like she was being watched for quite a while, and almost tripped once or twice from the distraction. It was almost a relief when, some time later, there was the crackle of dry leaves, and low shape slunk out of the forest into her path.

But as Sansa opened her mouth to scold the hound for following her, she realized it was not the hound, nor any dog at all! It was a big thing, a big cat, with a beautiful golden pelt, brushed and shiny. It walked with a languorous grace that she was envious of, and its eyes were jewels of green, turned her way.

“Hello, pretty red-furred girl,” the creature said, in a confident and noble voice.

“He-hello, sir,” Sansa stammered.

“You look like you know these paths well. Would you be able to direct me to Wintertown?” It asked, tilting its head at her, its eyes gleaming emerald in the sunlight.

“Oh, of… of course. It is down the path I came… you take the first fork away from the river… but the next fork go straight along,” she explained. “Have you traveled far?” She asked, too curious to say nothing, but wary of being impolite by asking more.

“Oh, quite far. I am a prince, in my land,” the cat said imperiously. Sansa gasped. A prince! Well, that had to mean he was male, and in that case he must be some sort of cat she did not know, and not a lion. She had been a little worried about that. But Sansa had seen pictures in a bestiary and knew a male lion had a ring of thick fur all round their neck, like a luxuriant collar.

“My grandfather thought it best I learn as much as I can from travel,” he continued, sauntering around, tail flicking hypnotically. “I do find my guards tedious but… when I wander far in a strange land, it can be hard to find them once more,” the cat gave her a grin that showed many sharp teeth, a sight she was not unused to, but found a little unnerving. Perhaps because it was here, alone, in the woods.

“Well I hope you find them soon,” Sansa told him. “I am… I should carry on, to… to keep my appointment,” she stammered, unable to take her eyes away from his. They were exquisite feline slits that seemed to study her with breathless intensity.

“Even if it takes an age to reunite with the others, I am glad to have been lost, as it let me meet you,” he purred, and came closer, so Sansa could feel his warm breath on her. Warm, but a little… sour. It would be rude to mention it, though.

“You are too kind. I am honoured a prince would find me so agreeable,” she tittered, and meant every word of it. She wondered if the others would believe her, that she had met a beautiful cat prince, and he had complimented her.

“Then I must be the first prince you have met! For any prince would find you so,” he said, and came right up and rubbed his head against her hip. Sansa gasped. It was so much like Lady… yet so different. Was this real? Did he fancy her? She was flattered, and yet, she faltered. She shouldn’t be alone with him here. What if he only wanted to steal her kisses, and then never speak to her again? Sansa didn’t know how things were done in his foreign land. Still, it would never do to offend a prince.

“I hope I will see you again, in Wintertown,” she said with false gaiety. “I am to return there before this evening. I live there. With my family.” She continued, kicking herself internally for how awkward she sounded.

The royal cat smiled at her with an almost indulgent air.

“Oh yes, I will see you again, you pretty little thing,” he drawled, and winked one of his emerald eyes at her. Sansa felt her blush rise up past her cheeks.

“Good… good day, my lord,” she said, and gave a curtsy, which she thought was very good as she’d been practicing doing a curtsy for months now.

“Good day to you too,” he said, and slipped past her without a sound.

The appearance of the mysterious cat prince put a spring in Sansa’s step that had been missing ever since her disappointing morning. She sang her new tune loudly and joyfully. Perhaps it should be about a beautiful princess who visited the forest dressed as a commoner, and met a handsome prince there who was similarly disguised. It was the sort of story Arya mocked as being _silly_ , but it didn’t seem so silly now she had met a real prince.

By the time she reached grandfather Hoster’s cottage, she had decided the beautiful princess would be named Candine, and she would be the loveliest singer anyone had ever heard. She rapped on the door, but then opened it right away. As usual, grandfather had absentmindedly left it unlatched.

“Hello!” She trilled brightly. “I have brought you some delicious treats, grandfather!” She slipped off her shoes and took off her cloak, so as to not dirty the house. Otherwise she would have to clean it before she left, and she didn’t have time to tarry today. Who knew how long the prince and his people would be in town!

Grandfather still hadn’t greeted her by the time she was finished, so she tip-toed to the bed, and went to gently rouse him. He couldn’t be relied upon to find the food on his own if he awoke later.

“Wake up, grandfather,” she cooed, setting down the basket. “It’s me, Sansa.” She gently shook his shoulder, which was much firmer and less bony than she remembered.

“Sansa? That is a pretty name for a pretty girl,” replied a voice that was somehow both soft and sharp, and _definitely_ did not belong to her grandfather.

Sansa backed away from the bed as she took in the figure covered by blankets and shadows with clear eyes. It was wrong, completely wrong. Icy meltwater dripped down her spine. Who was this, and where was grandfather Hoster?!

The figure shifted around to face her, a subtle snout and angular jaw betraying its inhumanity. But most notably, its round eyes, shining brightly out of the darkness.

“Why, grand… grandfather, what big eyes you have! They are clear today, and not milky or swollen at all…,” she tried to feign ignorance, and took ahold of her basket’s handle again, wondering if she could claim she had forgotten his porridge, and must go home to fetch it.

“Well they must be clear when such a lovely granddaughter comes to visit me,” the creature in the bed said. She didn’t believe grandfather Hoster’s eyes had _ever_ been so bright. Her hand trembled on the basket, and those wide eyes caught the movement. Ears flicked _above_ its head.

“And your ears… what large ears you have, I’m sure they were not so… the last time I saw you,” she quavered. Maybe now it knew its disguise was in vain, it would come into the light, and she could see what it was she dealt with.

“They are, I have been practicing my listening… and I can almost make out even the frantic beat of your little heart. Won’t you come closer so I can hear it properly?” And to her horror, it drew back the covers from the corner of the bed, and beckoned her close. She did not look at the door, but tried to remember, in her mind, just how far it was, and whether she could be out if before she was caught.

“Don’t be worried, girl. I know your journey was long, and the sun was high, and you must be tired.” It patted the covers, and she saw it had round paws, with no claws in sight.

“My father is expecting me home again right away,” she managed. “I shouldn’t tarry or he will come to find me!” She exclaimed. “Please, eat the food in the basket. It was made just for you,” she gushed. “And the pickles are very good, I mixed the vinegar, and the bread was baked just this morning!”

“Oh, I don’t much like bread,” said her mock-grandfather. “I just don’t have the teeth for it,” it complained, but then drew its lips back in a very wide smile, and even the paltry light in the room was enough to reveal rows of large, angular, shiny teeth.

“What large teeth… you have,” she whispered, hoping she would not die today. Hoping her grandfather was not dead.

“Large, and sharp,” the creature agreed. “Did you know,” it began amiably, “that even right now, I could reach the door before you could? Come sit on the bed with your poor grandfather and keep him warm.” This time its beckoning paw flexed out, and there was the unmistakable shine of claws.

“I don’t… want to,” she pleaded, but it only made the creature grin wider.

“That’s too-,“ it began, interrupted suddenly by the cottage door slamming open. Sansa leapt on top of her grandfather’s linen chest in fright. The door! She had forgotten to latch it too! Sansa didn’t have time to look at what opened the door before there was a roar, and a snarl, and then the cottage was full of teeth and claws and shrieking. Maybe her shrieking.

The scuffle between the creature and something else, maybe several something elses, was between her and the door. She bolted to the now empty bed and cowered against the far wall, hoping to hide under the blankets.

Then something else _was_ shrieking louder than her, and the sounds changed, became a sick ripping that made every hair on her body stand on end. She wanted her daddy, and her brothers and mother and even bratty Arya.

The room became suddenly silent. Her pitiful sobs were the only sound, muffled into the bedsheets that didn’t smell like her grandfather anymore.

“You can stop crying now,” said a scornful, abrasive voice. Sansa knew that voice!

“Hound!” she exclaimed, sitting up with relief. Her stomach curdled though, once she saw the Hound, and everything else in the cottage.

The black dog was heaving with weighty breaths, standing over a pile of gold and crimson. The other creature’s head was twisted horribly away from its neck, which was a mass of gore, and its eyes were open wide and sightless. Green, beautiful eyes.

“It’s that cat! The one I met earlier on the path. He said he was a prince and he… he seemed so kind, he wanted me to walk with him,” she babbled, shocked and sickened, that someone so lovely could have betrayed her trust so cruelly.

“You met this bastard and didn’t run straight home?” He snarled. “ _You_ of all people should know to be afraid of a _lion_!” He was barking his words now, loud and unpleasant.

“A lion? He can’t be a lion, the man lions have manes,” she insisted.

“He’s barely more than a whelp, of course he has no mane. And he has to prey on little girls, so he probably pissed himself with fear when anyone bigger than him came along. _Prince_ or no, he was a pathetic little worm.” And then he laughed, horribly.

“How did you know he was here?” She asked, suddenly more curious than afraid. “Did you follow me?” She might be cross about that, she wasn’t sure.

“No,” he snapped. “But I should have. More fool me. I went to track the scent of the stranger, and it led me here. He went down the valley, not along the road, but must have been much faster than you,” he smiled unpleasantly. “Almost everyone is.”

“Oh, so you… just happened to come upon us… you weren’t here to save me,” she peeped, ashamed at her brash assumptions.

“I knew his lot were about before sun-up. If I’d just wanted to _kill_ an intruder, I could have done it ten times by now. I might still have to do for the others that were with him,” he gruffed, then glared at her. “I wouldn’t have had to if some stupid little fool hadn’t decided to roam the woods alone. I had other things planned for today!” He complained.

“I’m very sorry then, to have inconvenienced you,” she whispered, head lowered. But a little spark was lit in her heart to hear that he _had_ done it for her sake. Everyone else was too busy for her, but _he_ had thought of her, looked out for her. Maybe he always had.

With another dismissive snorting noise, the hound bent down to bite the belly of the supposed lion, and began to drag it backwards, towards the door. Sansa was glad to see it go, even though it left behind much blood, and worse.

Her tears had dried up, but her hands were shaking, her nerves were tingling. The room _stank_ of blood, even with the carcass removed. It made her own blood thump in her ears, so she struggled to hear the black dog’s return.

“It was in my grandfather’s bed,” she whimpered. “He’s not here… my grandfather can’t walk far… and he’s not here,” she couldn’t say it, what she didn’t want to believe was true.

“Don’t get yourself worked up,” he snapped. “The old fool’s in the root cellar, I can smell him, and there’s no blood.” He sniffed, but in the human way of disdain, instead of how a dog should. “Must’ve been too tough and gristly to bother with for such a _fancy_ creature.” Sansa was not sure if the scorn in his voice was for the dead cat or for her.

He must have found a water trough outside, or rolled in the dirt, for there was less blood matting his fur than there… then she remembered there being. He was still damp looking, but it smelt like more than blood; like salt and sweat. He crossed the room to her, claws clipping against the floorboards. He was still panting, maybe from exertion, maybe from the excitement of the kill.

Sansa felt herself excited too, but she had done nothing, only watched the two creatures fight. Suddenly she remembered the lion’s claws covered in blood, and realized the hound must have been wounded.

“Where did he cut you?” She sat up on the edge of the bed. “Let me see,” she demanded.

“And what will you do? Lick my wounds better?”

Sansa didn’t know how he could joke and laugh after just… the lion’s head had barely been on its body any more.

“I can clean them,” she huffed. “And there are ointments in the cupboard. Grandfather easily bruises.”

“It would be a terrible shame if they became scars,” the hound mocked, but he came over to the bed anyway. Sansa gently touched his head, checked his good ear and then continued to stroke down his back, feeling for torn skin. Even though he wasn’t a cute puppy, it was calming to pet him, and Sansa already felt better.

When her hand brushed over his flank he flinched a little, and she withdrew it quickly.

“Don’t touch where it’s bleeding,” he told her. “Not yet. I’m still angry from the fighting.”

Sansa let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“Can I touch you where it’s not sore?” she asked, not sure why she was asking. The black hound peered at her questioningly, but then relented with a brief nod. Sansa brought her hands back up to his head, gently running her fingers through the scruff at his neck. His fur wasn’t smooth and silky like Lady’s had been. It was more coarse and stiff, but still a little soft, and inviting to touch.

With a sigh, Sansa leaned forward and placed a kiss on his brow, not caring that her lips touched some of his terrible furless scars.

“What are you doing?” he croaked, pulling his head out of her arms.

“I’m just… I thought,” Sansa began. She didn’t know either, now the question was asked.

“I don’t need to be thanked,” the dog snapped, his lip curling up over his teeth.

“No, it’s not… couldn’t you… I only…,” Sansa felt the blush rising in her, along with her heartrate and her breath. She wanted the hound to come lie on the bed and cuddle with her, like Lady used to. Only, a bit different.

The hound sniffed at her a little, then peered at her with his head cocked, in the manner of dogs. “Are you a vicious little thing at heart, for blood to have affected you so?” He laughed at her, though not with much enthusiasm. “You people are a strange lot; near always in heat, but almost never asking for it. That’s how it was told to me.”

“I’m not… I don’t go _in heat_ ,” she protested, with a blush so fierce it almost seemed to prove her a liar. “But what if… I were… asking for it?” She lowered her eyes to look at the scruff of his throat, unable to meet his gaze.

“We’re not of the same kind,” he stated, and her heart felt a little pang. _It’s true. How could I have even thought it?_ She squeezed her eyes shut.

“But I’ve never been one to shy away from depravity,” he gave a low and lewd chuckle. The mattress dipped, and she opened her eyes, but he was already upon her, his head – the good side of his head – rubbing against hers with slow but forceful movement, and his right paw pressing against her shoulder, claws and all. She was terribly shocked to find she could not counter the weight of him at all, and she fell backwards. He moved forward with her, crawling over her and almost laying down on her chest. But his paws were not on her, and she knew his weight must be on them, for she had no difficulty to breathe.

“In fact, do you know how many times I’ve wondered just how good a pretty red-haired girl would look underneath me?” He rasped into her ear, his breath bloody and warm.

Was it true? Had he thought of her… this way? She hadn’t known… she supposed she would have been appalled to know. Maybe… surely…

“I… you like red hair?” She asked, not sure what she wanted to hear.

“I do now,” he told her, which didn’t satisfy her at all. “And a round little hairless face with blunt teeth behind rosy lips, and blue eyes as wide as any doe’s,” he stopped talking, and she was jolted by the feeling of his tongue swiping up her neck, from collar to ear, hot and wet. Then he continued on like nothing had occurred. “Walking around queerly on two legs, or skipping, or dancing, and always, always looking at everyone as though they weren’t a pathetic rabble of selfish fools.”

His words confused her and comforted her both. She wasn’t sure what to make of them at all. He continued to nuzzle her, and lick her, while she wrapped her arms around him and felt his powerful heartbeat pulse against her.

“You like me?” She found the courage to ask, with her face pressed into his warm pelt.

“As much as I like anything in this shithole of a world,” the hound rasped. Sansa couldn’t decide what to think of that, but that was OK, because he continued to lick her, along her collar and down her shoulders, and even down her bodice, his nose snuffling under the collar of her dress.

She kept petting his head and neck, avoiding his wounds, and felt all the fear flow out of her just like an upturned bucket. She kissed his head again where she could reach it, sometimes fully on his scars, and she didn’t mind at all.

“Let me taste more of you,” he rumbled, pawing at her dress, smearing it with dirt and blood. For some reason it didn't upset her. She loosened her bodice ties and pulled it down to her hips. The hound began licking her with even more enthusiasm, and tugged her dress down lower with a hind leg, pressing her underneath him again.

Sansa’s blush now seemed to cover her whole body, like she was alive with fire. She was wet all over from the hound’s licking, and could feel him pressing something slick and smooth against her tummy as well.

“Can you… will you turn over?” The black hound huffed against her ear. Sansa wasn’t a little girl any more, and she knew what he meant to do. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut. There was no one here to see them, or hear… nobody would know. Why shouldn’t she?

She sat up, and the hound quickly moved back to allow her to. She peeked through her lashes and saw his usually snarling face was now softened, his brows relaxed and his tongue panting out between his teeth. Behind him, his tail was wagging briskly, something she had never seen his do before.

She gave him a little smile, then closed her eyes again and rolled over quickly, burying her face in the pillows. Her heart beat as fast as a jig as she felt him move over her again, his paws touching her more gently than she would have thought possible. He nudged her legs apart and she opened them.

She was startled when she felt him begin licking her again, but between her legs. It felt so good, incredibly good, and she opened her legs even wider. She could feel his hot breath on her there as well as his tongue, licking her up like delicious stew out of a dish.

She pressed her hips back against him carelessly, but he never scraped her with his teeth, so she pressed more and more, needing more of whatever this was. An incredible feeling suddenly engulfed her, and she slipped down onto the bed, her eyes rolling back into her head. A low cry came out of the back of her throat.

The hound’s attentive licking slowed, and then stopped. Sansa wasn't sure what she should do now, but she had no energy for anything. So she lay there, panting as hard as he had been, feeling tingles slowly leave her body.  

“You ready for more?” His raspy voice came from above her. _More?_ She thought, but she peeped out a yes and waited for what was going to happen next.

When his haunches pressed down on her, her own hips raised instinctively, and she moaned as she felt… something… go into her. It was tender, and gentle, and it didn’t hurt at all like everyone said it would. He began to move, and Sansa wiggled her hips contentedly, enjoying his weight on her.

But then it began to feel… different. His member still felt silky against her swollen inner skin, but now it seemed to be getting _bigger_ … and the hound was moving much _faster_. Sansa didn’t tell him to stop. Even though it began to sting, she decided she liked this too.

The more he moved, the more she wanted to roll her hips around and feel him inside her. She tried to lie still and let him do as he pleased. He could do anything he wanted to her if it felt this good! She could feel his breath on her nape, and her skin crawled to think of his sharp teeth so close to her delicate neck. But it crawled in a good way.

She was almost disappointed when he suddenly stopped, rested more of his weight on her, and his breathing slowed down to a steady pant. She could still feel him inside her, very much so, but without movement it was just pleasant, and didn’t hurt anymore. He began gently licking the back of her neck and shoulders, and she wished she could hug him. She felt suddenly tired.

But after a while, before she fell asleep, he backed off her, jumping down onto the floor. Sansa sat up stiffly, her joints all protesting. She didn’t know what to say, so she just stretched out on her grandfather’s bed that had had so many visitors lately, and watched her black dog begin to lick his cut flank, and his legs. She could see there were deep scratches there too, now, and felt bad for not seeing to him properly before.

Tentatively, she rose on shaky legs, pulling her dress up instinctively to preserve her modesty. Then she blushed and remembered that wasn’t really necessary.

“I need to go and tell my family what happened,” she said, swaying slightly. “The… lion, he said that there were more he was travelling with.” The whole village might be in trouble.

“I know,” the hound said, giving a wide yawn and shaking his head a little. He seemed distinctively untroubled about the danger there could be. “But it’s almost dark. You’re not going through the woods again alone, and we can hardly bring your grandfather with us.” He stood and walked over to her, and she could see one of his hind legs had a limp. Her eyes watered sympathetically.

“You go get in the cellar with your grandfather. I’m going to tell your father and the other villagers about the lions. Maybe we can convince them their _prince_ has gone some other route. Cats aren’t so good with their nose,” he sniffed as if to emphasize his own. “And they’re not very bright, either,” he declared.

“And if that doesn’t work, well…,” he tossed his head, and seemed to regard the blood-stained floor of the cottage. “We’ll sort it out some way.”

Sansa finished retying her dress and began trying to find the food that had been scattered from her basket. The jar of pickles was still intact, and so was the cheese in its cloth. But the bread had been splattered with blood, and she didn’t want to even touch it.

The hound pressed his muzzle into her to lead her outdoors and around to the cellar doors.

“Don’t either of you come out until I or your father returns,” he commanded her. Sansa shook with a little fear to be alone again. Well, not really alone. But without the hound.

“Alright,” she agreed, and bent down to lift open the cellar. “But,” she began, then hesitated. “If I don’t see you again… today…,” she lowered her eyes demurely. The hound’s ear pricked up. “May I come visit you soon, at the mill?” Her skin burned hot again, and she hoped he wouldn’t laugh at her.

He gave a low rumble from his chest as response.

“I’ll always be glad to see your face, little singing bird.”


End file.
